


Dangerous Games

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [32]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan and Lyle are playing dangerous games and Stephen and Lester are enjoying the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Games

Sir James Lester had to admit that on occasion he’d objected quite strenuously to the bills the Home Office had received for the conversion of a dilapidated barn in the grounds of the Mitchell’s hotel in the Forest of Dean into a training facility.

He’d informed Claudia Brown, several times, that if the soldiers wanted to practise skills they had already acquired at vast expense to the taxpayer, then they could drive back up to Hereford and play silly buggers there.

However, on a hot summer’s morning, sprawled out on a sun lounger in the said barn, a cold beer in his hand, he had to admit that he’d seen worse uses of Government money. Far worse.

A half-naked Lieutenant Jon Lyle, currently grappling in a rather suggestive way with his equally attired commanding officer could well have accounted for Lester’s sudden change of heart, but he certainly wasn’t intending to share that snippet of information with Miss Brown.

Lyle jumped backwards, barely avoiding a vicious kick in the ribs from Ryan’s bare foot. The captain’s follow through was fast, almost too fast for Lyle and the lieutenant only just managed to duck under the other man’s outstretched arm and scramble away, panting and gasping.

Ryan laughed. “Getting slow in your old age, Jon.”

Lyle groaned and held up a hand to plead for a halt. “I reckon Jim’s beer’s off.”

“I reckon you just drank too much of it …”

“Since when has ten pints been too much for me?”

Lester grimaced at the thought of the bar bills.

It was a bloody good thing that the Anomaly Project was under full security lock down. He had a nasty feeling that the bean crunchers in Whitehall would take a dim view of some items of expenditure if they ever got to see the full accounts. He made a mental note to ask Jim Mitchell not to submit a fully itemised invoice. Living Expenses would be general enough, he hoped.

“That’s your Time Out finished, gentlemen!” he called, glancing down at his watch. “What’s next on the agenda? Something else involving sweat and grunting?”

Lyle threw him an amused glance. “Since when have you ever objected to activities involving sweat and grunting, sweetie?”

Lester grinned. Lyle could raise grunting to an art form when he wanted to. “It’s bad manners to kiss and tell, didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”

Ryan snorted with laughter. “Has he never told you that his mother did a stint on the News of the Screws before she retired to Spain?”

Lester failed to keep an expression of surprise off his face. He’d known Lyle’s mother had been a journalist before meeting and marrying Husband Number Three, but he hadn’t known she’d worked the tabloids. His lover’s file clearly wasn’t as complete as it might have been. Typical Security Services, there were times when you couldn’t trust the idle sods to find their arses with both hands.

“He failed to mention that,” Lester conceded. “He told me she was an Arts Correspondent.”

“Well, Finn might call it art, but he doesn’t usually get past the cartoons.”

“What else hasn’t the boy told me?” enquired Lester, taking a long pull of cold beer, and eyeing Lyle suspiciously.

Ryan laughed and picked up two of the leather-sheathed practice knives. “Let’s find out, shall we? Embarrassing Questions? One hit, one question?”

Lyle grinned. “Where’s Hart?”

“Here,” said Stephen, from the doorway, a large cool box dangling from one hand.

“Splendid, more beer. How remarkably thoughtful of you, dear boy,” said Lester, gesturing to the second sun lounger. “They keep trying to steal mine.”

Wearing a grey vest that left little or nothing to the imagination and a pair of jeans that would probably have caused a riot even in a nunnery, Ryan’s lover sauntered into the barn, flipping the bolt across the door after closing it.

Lester reached for another beer.

It was Sunday, they had sod all else to do, Stringer’s lads were on duty for the weekend and it rather looked like Hart was in a playful mood, judging by the flicker of mischief in his blue eyes. His black hair stood up in wet spikes, emphasising the come hither look in his eyes. His nipples pressed like pebbles against the tight material of the vest.

Lester’s cock stirred of its own volition.

“If we’re playing that sort of game, I need more alcohol,” said Lyle, swiping a bottle and draining it in three long swallows. He looked down at his lover and grinned, but made no other comment.

Lester flipped him a casual finger.

Stephen held out a bottle to Ryan, and the Special Forces captain drank it just as quickly.

“You’re adjudicating,” commented Ryan, “but play fair, I’d hate him to claim I’d only won by cheating.”

“It’s the only way you will win,” grinned Lyle. “Stab vests or bareback?”

Ryan’s lazy smile went straight to Lester’s groin as well. It looked like it really was turning into one of those days.

Without bothering to answer, the captain dropped smoothly into a fighting crouch, the knife held in his left hand.

The two men circled each other warily. Lyle made the first move, feinting high, then changing direction with the speed of a whip lash. Ryan parried easily, using his forearm against Lyle’s wrist to sweep him off line.

In the flurry that followed, Stephen yelled, “Hit to Lyle. He caught your shoulder, darling, bad luck.”

Lyle stepped back, grinning. “If you had to fuck someone in the team other than Hart, who’d you choose?”

“Bastard,” muttered Ryan, shooting an apologetic look at his boyfriend.

“Answer the question,” taunted Lyle, “and tell the truth or the baby Jesus will weep tears of blood.”

“Temple,” said Ryan, through clenched teeth as he made a move on Lyle without warning which the lieutenant barely avoid by less than a centimetre.

From the look on Hart’s face, that answer would be the subject of some discussion in private. Lester shot him a sympathetic glance and received a good-natured shrug in return.

“Hit to Ryan! That’ll teach you to get cocky, Jon …”

Lyle put two fingers up and jumped back out of range of a second sneak attack. It was clear that neither of the men were above cheating.

“Favourite bedroom kink?” asked Ryan, studiously avoiding Lester’s eyes.

“Rimming.”

“Always knew you were an arse licker …”

Lyle grinned and gave ground fast.

Ryan followed.

The two men probed and tested, each thrust meeting a parry or a counter-attack. There were times when Lester felt Lyle had the edge when it came to speed, and then every time that thought crossed his mind, Ryan pulled a move that was almost too fast for his eye to follow.

The third in a sequence of attempted strikes succeeded.

“Hit!”

Lyle swore luridly.

“Which of the lads would you fuck, given a choice?”

Lyle’s answer coincided with a knife shift that caught Ryan slightly unawares. “Blade. Same question back at you, sir.”

“Same answer,” panted Ryan, throwing himself sideways to avoid a nasty low line kick, as Lyle pivoted from the hip, aiming for his knee.

“Free style,” commented Stephen, admiringly. “How pleasantly unrestrained. I think it’s our turn to ask a few questions, don’t you, James?”

Lester flipped the tops off two more bottles. “Excellent idea. Lyle scores, you ask Ryan? And vice versa? Give ‘em an incentive to succeed, unless they want all their grubby little secrets hung out to dry.”

Stephen nodded, then he pulled his vest off over his head and used it to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. Then to Lester’s surprise, the younger man also thumbed open the button of his jeans and slowly and carefully ran the zipper down. He was right to be careful, the shameless little sod hadn’t bothered with underwear.

“Time to test their powers of concentration,” Stephen said, running a hand down his already erect cock.

Lester felt the heat rise in his own body, but he was damned if he was going to let Hart get the better of him. He met the younger man’s eyes with what he hoped was a cool stare. “Your nipples look like they’re crying out for some attention, Dr. Hart.”

Stephen glanced down at his own body, then across at Lester, totally ignoring the frozen looks on the faces of the two soldiers. “Good point well made, Sir James.” Stephen ran his left hand up his chest, rubbing at first one nipple, then the other.

They couldn’t have got much harder even if he’d attached clamps to them. Lester began to wonder if was possible for him to come, simply from the effects of watching Hart’s activities. He had a nasty suspicion that it could indeed happen.

Lyle managed to drag his attention back to the contest first, a ragged thrust from him catching Ryan unawares and gouging a thin red furrow across the captain’s shoulder. Ryan cursed, calling Lyle’s parent’s marriage into question.

“Ever dreamt about watching me get fucked by another bloke, babe?” Stephen asked, a wide smile displaying white, even teeth.

Ryan threw him a look that would have sent his men scurrying for cover without a second thought.

“I do believe Dr. Hart asked you a question, Captain Ryan …” purred Lester, taking a long pull from the neck of the bottle.

Lyle took advantage of Ryan’s confusion to land another hit.

Stephen tut-tutted and continued to stroke his own cock. “Still waiting for the first answer, honey bun.”

“Yes,” said Ryan, as he closed in on Lyle, bare feet scuffling in the straw and sand of the barn floor.

“Yes, what, sweetheart?”

“Yes, I have dreamt about watching you get fucked by another bloke.” Ryan emphasised each word with a hard, fast jab from the knife, which Lyle, for all his speed barely managed to counter.

“I swear your boy’s fucking telepathic at times,” muttered Stephen, admiringly. “Don’t know how else he managed to avoid that lot.”

“He does seem inhumanly fast at times,” acknowledged Lester.

“Anticipation,” said Stephen. “It’s all down to anticipation in a blade fight. Ryan’s what they called a closed book fighter. He gives sod all away, but watch Lyle, no matter what Ryan does, he manages to be a split second ahead of him. In terms of technique, Ryan can nail him every time, but the bugger still manages to be a fraction of a second ahead. Blade swears he’s telepathic.”

Lester watched the younger man’s hand, brushing lightly over a pair of nipples so sharp they could have been used to cut glass, while his other hand still stroked his cock. He dropped a hand to his own crotch and flipped open the button on his own jeans and eased the zip a fraction, reducing the pressure on his cock slightly. Stephen grinned lasciviously. Lester sighed. “You’re a tart, Dr Hart. I’ll have a note to that effect added to your Personnel Records.”

Stephen shrugged. “Nick reckons the Dean did that years ago.”

Lyle held his ground in the face of a series of increasingly fast attacks from Ryan, parrying or avoiding each one by only the barest possible margin.

Stephen sucked in a sharp breath and Lester saw his cock jump. Stephen groaned softly and thrust up into his own hand.

“Not so fast,” breathed Lester.

“Sorry.” Stephen’s voice was low and throaty. He took a quick slug of beer. “I’m still owed a question, darling.”

“Then fucking ask it,” said Ryan, managing to drag a hand across his sweaty forehead and wipe it off on his black combat trousers.

“Ever wanted to be fisted?”

“No!”

Lyle’s startled laughter cost him the advantage and Ryan landed a hard glancing strike across the lieutenant’s ribs.

“I do believe you’ve embarrassed the dear Captain,” remarked Lester. “But I’m not complaining. My turn, I believe?”

“Bonus points if you can make Lyle blush ….”

Lester’s smile turned feral. Hart clearly didn’t know that it was surprisingly easy to make Jon Lyle blush.

“How old were you when your mother first caught you wanking, Lyle?”

“13.” And even in the heat of the barn, the flush on Lyle’s cheeks was noticeable.

Stephen grinned and pinched both his own nipples hard, for effect.

Ryan eyes were already dark with need, and when he stood up straight, the bulge in his trousers was entirely apparent.

Both of the soldiers were sweating freely now, and blood from a few scrapes ran red down lightly-tanned chests and much darker forearms. The pair of them were breathing hard and fast, but they were still moving easily and smoothly around the barn, manoeuvring themselves as much as possible to keep sight of Stephen’s antics.

A blindingly fast move on Ryan’s part got past even Lyle’s uncanny defences.

Lester’s grin widened. “If you had a choice, Jon, what would you want to do to Stephen right now?”

“Suck his cock,” panted Lyle, throwing himself backwards, just out of reach of a blow that would have done a lot of damage if it had landed. He hit the ground and rolled, coming up just out of range of a hard kick which landed harmlessly on a straw bale.

Lester raised both eyebrows in polite surprise. “I’m not wholly sure Captain Ryan liked that suggestion, Lieutenant Lyle.”

“You asked the question,” said Lyle, trying, and failing, to sound innocent. “I just answered it.” Ryan came at him again, and only another sideways roll across the floor saved Lyle from contact.

A fast knife-switch while Lyle was still down caught Ryan off guard and the sheathed blade took the Special Forces captain hard behind the knee. He stumbled and nearly fell, but still managed to parry Lyle’s next strike.

Stephen grinned lasciviously. “Do you fancy watching Lyle suck me, sweetie pie?”

“Yes.” Ryan’s answer was delivered as he managed to grab Lyle’s wrist and bring it down on his knee, forcing him to drop it by ruthlessly jabbing his fingers onto the pressure point. “But I’ll fucking kill him if he tries it!”

Lyle let out a yelp of pain, followed by a string of obscenities.

“We’ll take that as a hit, shall we, gentleman?” said Lester. “Jon, darling, are you trying to needle Ryan?”

“No.” Lyle’s hazel eyes stared challengingly up into Ryan’s. “Not my fault he isn’t playing like a nice puppy … “

Ryan twisted Lyle’s wrist hard and was rewarded with another slight yelp.

Lester watched as Stephen Hart lifted his hips up, shoved the tight jeans further down and stared hard at him. The vivid blue eyes held an unmistakeable offer.

“Dangerous games,” murmured Lester, ignoring the sudden lack of activity from both the soldiers.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasised about both fucking and sucking Stephen. Cutter’s research assistant was just too bloody pretty not to have been the subject of several masturbatory fantasies during interminable Home Office meetings. It was the combination of blue eyes and black eyelashes that did it, fuelled by Hart’s habit of constantly looking like he’d been well shagged and put away wet.

Sir James Lester had to acknowledge that Stephen Hart’s cock was just as appetising as the rest of him, but he was also all too conscious of the fact that the younger man’s lover was the commander of the Anomaly Project’s military teams, and Lester could do without the friction that this sort of game would almost certainly create if it went too far. With a feeling of regret, he leant back and shook his head.

Stephen looked disappointed.

To Lester’s surprise, a similar expression played across Ryan’s face. Well, he had admitted to having fantasised about watching his lover get shagged by another man. But there was altogether too much testosterone in the over-heated air of the barn for any games like that to be a sensible proposition right at this particular moment.

Ignoring both Lester and Lyle, Stephen ran his tongue slowly round his lips and started to stroke his own cock again. “Come on, darling, don’t tell me you’ve never thought about watching while another bloke sucks me off …..”

Ryan sighed. “Don’t remember Lyle earning you that question, kitten.”

In answer, Lyle threw his weight against the larger man and managed to upset his balance just enough for him to regain the advantage. Lyle grabbed for the knife with his left hand, only to be forestalled by Lester.

“Drop the knives, gentleman. It’s back to basics for you two. Probably safer that way, I feel. Blades could result in someone getting hurt for real.”

Stephen snorted inelegantly. “You obviously haven’t seen them fight bare-handed before.”

“Do I take it the Marques of Queensbury will shortly be turning in his grave?”

A look of immensely fuckable confusion suffused Stephen’s face, making Lester regret his earlier look, don’t touch decision.

“I thought the Marquess of Queensbury was a woman.”

Lester sighed. “You’re an uneducated little sod, Hart, for all your degrees. The Marquess of Queensbury was a bloke.”

“Oscar Wilde fucked his son,” panted Lyle. “Read it in one of the books you keep in the bog at your flat.”

Ryan closed hard and fast, hands gripping like two vices onto Lyle’s sweat-slicked arm.

“How cultured of you, dear,” muttered Lester, wincing at the noise Lyle’s back made as it impacted with the beaten earth floor of the barn. Perhaps the tax payer could stump up for some crash mats, as well. He made a mental note to suggest it, at some point. “If I stocked that shelf with books on ballet and opera, would you read them as well?”

“Nope, probably use ‘em to wipe my arse …”

Lester winced again, but decided not to put Lyle’s threat to the test. The lieutenant was still proving remarkably resistant to certain type of culture. Ballet in particular. “It’s getting harder to tell who’s scored,” he commented. “I suggest a change of stakes. Winner takes all, perhaps?”

Stephen met Lester’s eyes and grinned. “Winner does what they want, to whichever of us they want?”

Lester glanced from Stephen to the two soldiers.

Lyle looked speculative.

The look on Ryan’s face was distinctly feral.

From the time he’d spent watching the two men fight, Lester was starting to come to the conclusion that in a prolonged fight, Lyle’s telepathy, or whatever the hell it was, might well give him the advantage. The two men were evenly matched for speed and general sneakiness. Ryan was an inch or so taller, and marginally heavier, but Lyle was frighteningly agile, especially when it came to maintaining the offensive while giving ground. A trick which had saved his hide on several occasions over the last half hour.

So, if it was a case of winner takes all, who would be the winner, and what would they choose to take? For a fleeting moment, Lester regretted his suggestion. Could he trust Lyle to be sensible? One look at Lyle’s hazel eyes, gleaming with mischief, made Lester think possibly not, but then again, before the lieutenant could get as far as misbehaving, he had get to past Ryan, and he had to admit that at the moment, Dr. Hart’s lover had an impressively implacable look in his gun-metal grey eyes.

Lester waved a hand with deliberately studied unconcern. “Sounds reasonable, but I presume you’ll carry on running interference, so to speak, Dr. Hart?” Stephen ran a hand up over the flat expanse of his stomach, leaving a glistening trail of pre-come behind, mingling with the sweat from the heat in the barn. “I’ll take that as a yes, dear boy. All right, gentleman. Winner takes all. Let battle commence ……..”

Ryan swayed out of reach of Lyle’s foot, sparing the time to glance over at Stephen. “Don’t get carried away, Hart. I’m going to win, and you’re going to come down my throat, and not anywhere else. Got that?”

In answer, Stephen’s hand dropped lower and he started to play with his own balls.

Lester envied the younger man’s casual self-confidence and was strongly tempted to undo his own trousers and follow suit. He knew perfectly well from the grin on Lyle’s face, that the soldier knew exactly what he was thinking.

Lyle’s eyes dropped to Lester’s groin and he ran his tongue suggestively round his lips. “Save it for me,” the lieutenant mouthed, grinning, even as he darted to one side, ducking and rolling.

Then Lyle came to his feet, hazel eyes serious for the first time since the two men had started this game, and the atmosphere in the barn changed as the game began again, but this time there was a quiet intensity previously lacking in the easy ebb and flow of the banter between them. A slight frisson of fear ran a cold finger down Lester’s spine, and he was reminded rather forcibly that a large amount of tax payer’s money had gone into training these two men to kill in a variety of ways that he doubted he could even begin to imagine.

He knew from his time in the Devil’s Crowll that Lyle was icy cold under pressure, but for the first time, he now saw the full extent of that. Inside of a minute, Lester revised his earlier view. Lyle’s uncanny predictive abilities were not enough. Neither was his speed nor agility. Ryan matched him for speed and made full use of his own superior height and weight. Lester knew that it was only a matter of time before Lyle lost this bout, even though the dark-haired lieutenant had the fighting instincts of a cornered wildcat and had obviously inhabited some of the world’s darkest gutters when it came to dirty tricks.

Both men were bleeding from numerous cuts and scratches and filthy from the packed dirt of the floor. One thing was for sure, both combatants were going to catch the sharp end of Ditzy’s tongue.

Lester spared a quick glance over at his fellow spectator and wasn’t surprised to find Stephen’s hand resting idly on his cock. Ryan’s blue-eyed lover was far too engrossed in the action to keep up any attempt at distraction, although in Lester’s view, the sight of Hart in a loose-limbed sprawl, cock in hand, pre-come leaving a glistening snail-trail on his flat stomach really was pornographic in the extreme, and distracting enough. His own hand settled on the strained denim at his crotch and he pressed hard at the base of his cock. He wanted to come down Lyle’s throat, not in his own jeans.

His lover still fought on, but his movements were less precise now and his breath was coming in harsh, dry rasps. Ryan closed on him, one large hand wrapping itself round Lyle’s left wrist. The lieutenant tried and failed to break the hold. Ryan hooked one leg behind Lyle’s knee and bore them both to the ground, using Lyle’s own body to break the fall. The breath was driven out of Lyle’s body in one pained gasp. His eyes closed, and for a second, Lester thought his lover had passed out, then he saw a look of surprise cross Ryan’s face and the ghost of a grin hover around Lyle’s dry mouth.

The corded muscles stood out on Lyle’s forearms as he continued to strain against Ryan’s hold on him, and a thin trail of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Slowly and deliberately, Ryan leaned down and licked at the blood. Lyle’s hips jerked upwards, grinding his groin hard against Ryan’s.

Ryan’s eyes closed, just for a moment, then he gave one hard, brutal shove with his own hips, and Lyle’s mouth opened in a groan. Lester watched in fascination as Ryan captured Lyle’s lips just for a moment, forcing his tongue into the lieutenant’s mouth, and jerking his hips again.

Abruptly, Lyle stopped straining and moved with Ryan, twisting his head to one side to deepen the kiss.

Moments later, Ryan drew his head back, amusement showing clearly in eyes that were now calm and relaxed. He ran his tongue around his own lips then leaned in again to lick one final smear of blood from the corner of Lyle’s mouth.

“Winner takes all, Jon, now be a good boy and go suck your boyfriend off while I watch. He looks like he needs it.” Pushing himself up on both arms and grinning, Ryan rubbed his own damp groin against Lyle’s now softening cock.

“Can’t I just lie here enjoying post-coital sweet-talk and staring up into your masterful eyes?” panted Lyle, his own eyes wide and equally amused.

“No, you bloody well can’t,” interrupted Lester, conscious of the fact that his throat was now uncomfortably dry and even to his own ears, his voice sounded scratchy and harsh.

Ryan came to his feet in a surprisingly fluid movement and sauntered over to Stephen, holding his hand out for a beer bottle. The liquid went straight down his throat in one long swallow, then he dropped to his knees, and without preamble, ran a cold tongue up the length of Stephen’s cock, before swallowing him to the root, and sucking hard. Stephen’s hips bucked convulsively and his hands grabbed at Ryan’s head, his fingers running roughly through dirty blond hair.

Lester was so engrossed in the sight of Stephen Hart fucking Ryan’s willing throat that he failed to notice Lyle rolling over and coming shakily to his feet. Then a second later, his eyes opened wide as he felt Lyle’s fingers pulling at the zip of his jeans, finally freeing his straining cock from the confines of uncomfortably tight trousers and underwear.

Sir James Lester let out a slightly surprised whine of pure pleasure as he felt Lyle’s hot lips surrounding him.

Ryan’s eyes flicked up and Lester saw him start to grin, which couldn’t have been easy with his mouth stretched around Hart’s cock. He was still staring into Ryan’s grey eyes when he came, emptying himself with a groan down Lyle’s throat. Then the captain sucked hard at the same time as he twisted one of Stephen’s nipples between his finger and thumb, and with a startled yelp, Stephen followed Lester’s example and came.

Ryan was the first to move, reaching over lazily to flip the top off another beer and hold it out to a grateful Lester, who let the cold liquid trickle slowly down his throat, savouring it almost as much as he was savouring Lyle’s gentle nuzzling as the lieutenant licked him clean of the last traces of come.

“Don’t I get a drink?” whined Lyle, plaintively.

“Give him a beer, for God’s sake,” muttered Lester. “He’ll only try the bloody puppy dog eyes if you don’t. He knows perfectly well that’s his secret weapon.”

The grin on Ryan’s face spread even wider. “He’s been trying them on me for years. He knows I’m totally immune to his charms.”

“Made you come in your pants, didn’t I, sir?” challenged Lyle, lazily. “Now give me a bloody beer, or I’ll demand a re-match.”

“Give him the beer,” Lester groaned, finishing his own and resting the cold bottle on the back of his lover’s neck. “I don’t think my heart would stand another session like that, this side of Christmas.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Stephen, speculatively. “I can think of a few questions I’d still like to ask.”


End file.
